Before All This Hate
by TeyrianTimelord
Summary: Sif hates Loki with every fiber of her being. Or so she thinks. The undoing of an old spell reveals that things were not always as they are and sometimes hate is easier than love. - Sif/Loki
1. Chapter 1

**Just saw Thor: The Dark World yesterday with my sister, and the first thing she said to me when we left the theater was "Loki/Sif, I ship it!" I thought about it for a few seconds and resolved to go down with this ship. So, here's my first go with this new OTP. I loved writing this so much, and will probably write a follow up. Enjoy!**

_**Before All this Hate**_

"Lady Sif, I want you to take the first watch of that traitor." Odin ordered from the throne without looking up from the scroll he was perusing.

"Of course, my king," she replied, despite the goose-bumps ridging her arms.

She hoped the All-Father did not see her shiver under her armor. Sif would just assume die before allowing anyone to see any sign of weakness in her form, especially Odin. She was a shieldmaiden of Asgard, there was no room for fear or discomfort, but as she walked toward the dungeons acute twinges prickled under her skin. The fork-tongued Trickster was one of the few things capable of making her squirm, for various reasons. She had fears the same as any man and the very concept of someone having the power to pry them out scared her beyond belief. The foremost step of becoming a warrior was overcoming fear. Loki could undo all of that hard work with a snap of his fingers. In the past, Sif had never needed to face the prospect of his wrath, but his attempt on her life proved their former friendship was irrelevant.

Still, she mustered her courage and put on the same countenance she did before battle. He was locked in the strongest cell of the Nine Realms. Nothing could get in or out, even the apprentice of Frigga's magic. No, there was nothing to be afraid of. She reassured herself of this the whole way down the cells but was no less struck by the cool fury in his eyes when she approached his plain white prison where he faced the glass window standing as straight as a spear shaft. His pale face was as calm and collected as ever, but those piercing orbs were burning with a cold fire that coursed and ebbed along to the contempt seething from every pore. His left hand was dripping blood from the knuckles, no doubt from a blow to the wall. Steam rose from each crimson drop as it hit the floor.

"Ah, Lady Sif, what a pleasant surprise," he hummed with mock pleasure and a frozen smirk. "I was rather hoping you would be the one they sent to torture me."

"I'm not here to torture you, not yet at least," she growled. "Fortunately for you, I am only your jailor."

"Fortunately for me…" he mused, rolling his tongue as if tasting the words and weighing their significance.

Sif's hand instinctively came to rest on the pommel of her sword.

"Yes, if it was my choice to make you would die slowly in agony for your crimes," she hissed back.

Loki let out a harsh laugh that rang throughout the hall, bouncing from wall to wall, echoing in every corridor and causing other prisoners to look toward the commotion. Sif jumped, startled by the sudden outburst as he touched his hand to the enchanted glass closest to her face. Blood from his split skin that had trickled into his palm smeared the transparent surface in a blossom of oozing red.

"My crimes, Lady Sif?" His voice was lathered in sly condescension. "Do I really earn your loathing for so little? While you dote on the murderer of thousands who sits on your throne and the slayer of hundreds who fights at your side? Yet I am so cursed as to be the object of hate for pursuing what was only mine by right."

He bared his teeth and his tone dropped to a more deadly pitch.

"Fortunately for _you_, I am only a prisoner."

Sif narrowed her eyes and slammed the edge of her fist to meet his bleeding hand.

"You cannot scare me!" she nearly screamed, for both their sakes. He was right. She was fortunate that he was not free.

Much to her surprise, his snarl suddenly softened and he trailed the tips of his fingers over the glass to the frame of her jaw line. The corners of his mouth eased into a sad smile.

"I do not wish to scare you, Sif. Contrary to popular belief, I remember our childhood. Can I be blamed for my bitterness after all that has happened to me? I still remember what life was like before all this hate…"

He looked sincere, apologetic, but she was not foolish enough to trust his face. The title "Trickster" was not given lightly by the people of Asgard; Loki had earned his nickname with voracity, once at the expense of her hair. She could not let her guard down just because he was showing some shadow of wistful guilt.

"No one within the reach of the Bifrost trusts you. Why should I?" she spat, taking two steps back. His word games were just as dangerous as his magic if she did not stay on the top of her wit.

"No one within reach of the Bifrost has reason to trust me, except you," he murmured cryptically. "Would you like me show you?"

"Absolutely not!"

But even as she made the retort Sif felt tendrils of skillfully planted curiosity pry through her brain. Why her alone? How could even Loki imagine a scenario where she had the sole reason to believe his lies? The questions raked the surface of her mind, painfully digging through her memory. Something was there. Something…

She turned her back on him, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. His throaty chuckle swirled around her like suffocating smoke.

"Get out of my head," she choked.

"This is all your own work, my dear Sif," he said defensively. "You know why you should trust me and it stings you as much as it stings me."

"You're lying," she croaked hoarsely, her throat beginning to constrict. It felt as through a vice had clamped down on her skull. This had to be another trick.

"You're lying to yourself!"

Then it hit her at full force, the memory that she had repressed for years. What life was like before all the hate, before she joined forces with Thor and the Warriors Three, before she was Asgard's greatest shieldmaiden, there was a boy and a girl who would hold hands, and look at flowers, and braid each other's hair on warm evenings when the stars burned brightly overhead. She had pushed it so far to the back of her mind that it was nearly lost.

"_I still remember_" he repeated quietly, coaxing her to face him once again.

"You have changed," he made herself say without looking him in the eyes.

He had been sweet once. A sweet, sad little boy who always strove for approval but only received it from his mother. His mother, and Sif. He had always been enough the way he was, without all the lies and the illusions.

"No, Sif, the world changed. You were all just too blind to see what I was capable of," he said bitterly, sweeping his fingers in circles around the glass, drawing swirls with the almost dry blood. "But my feelings for you never once shifted."

"You tried to kill me!" she shrieked.

"You got in the way!" he yelled back, matching her tone. "Why do you think you couldn't remember our friendship, hm? Do you really believe you just repressed it away? _That _was my doing! You never did cope well with betrayal; I didn't want your death to be any more painful that it had to be."

Tears started to form in Sif's eyes. The more he spoke the more it all came rushing back. There was a time when he was nothing but kind to her. He loved her once, and she loved him. Every touch was tender, every glance was gentle, every kiss was warm. What happened?! How could he have the power to make her forget all of that?! Her knees went weak and she leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing. It was all too much!

"I should kill you for this," she managed to spout through her heavy breathing.

"And I should like to die for it, but that's not in our control, is it?" he replied, but not unkindly.

She sank to the ground under the weight of his words. He followed, kneeling and pressing his forehead against the window. Almost out of unconsciousness, her hand flew up to meet him and she recalled the feel of his skin cool skin under her fingers. His eyes dropped sullenly, betraying the longing lurking behind them.

"I hate you," she tried to bite, but it came as a barely audible whimper.

"Who is telling lies now?"

An uncontrollable shiver rolled over Sif's body.

"Undo it!" she demanded, fighting the pain in her chest. "Make me forget again! I don't want this! I don't want us!"

"You know as well as I that none of my magic can breech this cell. I could not do it again even if I so desired." His voice dripped with bitterness, but there was not even an ounce of dislike detectable.

More detailed recollections began rattling around in Sif's memory, bombarding her senses with familiar smells, sounds, and sensations. The soft perfume of a blooming rose left on her pillow, blades of grass on her bare arms in the warmth of spring, cold fruit tea that could only be made by one man's hands, cold rain pounding all around while hot breath flits over the skin on her neck. She resisted the urge to vomit.

"Please, I'll do anything, just make it stop!" she sobbed, weakly smacking the wall with her open palm.

She saw a single tear roll over Loki's cheek as he studied her.

"Why does our love cause you so much pain?" he asked, his own anguish leaking into his words.

"It's not ours, it's not mine," she gasped. "It can't be!"

He sighed and closed his eyes, letting his hand fall back to his side. Sif wanted to cleave open his skull for this, but more than anything she wanted to tangle her fingers in that silky black hair and crush her mouth to his. The urge was overwhelming beyond anything she had ever experienced before. Pain radiated from the tips of her fingers to her very core with every moment that passed, and the few inches between them grew into miles.

"I have been told by many that I do not have a heart," Loki muttered, rising back to a standing position. "I have spent these past years believing them, and yet… and yet I feel what can only be heartbreak. Set your mind at ease, Lady Sif, for tortured me you have."

"No, Loki, please!" she called as he made his way toward the back of his cell.

He spun around quickly on his heels.

"Please, what?" he snarled. "What more could you possibly want from me now? To lie and say it's all a trick I planted and that we were never in love? Do you want me to try to kill you again and swear on the life of my mother that I feel absolutely nothing?"

"Yes!"

She wanted, needed, it to be true.

"Well I am sorry, then," he answered emptily, turning his back on her. "Even I can grow tired of lies, and you have thoroughly exhausted me."

Doing her best to ignore the throbbing that racked her whole body, Sif used her sword as a makeshift cane to stagger back to her feet. She needed to leave, even if it meant violating a direct order. Her whole world was shattering like a broken mirror, throwing what was once a perfectly clear picture into shards of light and color with edges sharp enough to draw blood. _You bastard…_

As she finally managed to stumble toward the stairway with as much dexterity as her blurred vision and aching body would allow, she paused with she heard the faint call,

"Sif."

Even though every nerve screamed not to, she turned just enough to acknowledge Loki. He was back to the front of his cell, both hands pressed firmly against the glass as if trying to push through it. There was no anger left in his face, no bitterness, only sorrow and pain, the kinds of which could bring any man to his knees.

"I never once stopped loving you."

Sif brought her free hand to her mouth and bolted up the stair as quickly as her fatigued body could manage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, my lovelies, I'm back! By popular demand, here is the follow up chapter. And it was so much fun, and took on such a life of its own that guess what? There will be a chapter three to wrap up this whole fiasco! Dedicated to everyone who was kind enough to review. Enjoy!**

_And there he was, sitting with his back against the massive oak tree, an old leather notebook clasped firmly in one hand while those long pale fingers thoughtfully scribbled a quill over the loose pages. His face was the epitome of serenity. She shook her head and sighed. This should have been the first place she looked._

"_You missed training again," she stated in what he called her "General Sif" voice._

_He just barely lifted his eyes from the journal, pulling it closer to hide whatever expression had taken over his mouth._

"_I was busy."_

_She unceremoniously threw the tip of her sword into the soft dirt and walked over to sit next to him. He kept his arm poised over the paper, carefully using the feather end of his quill to obscure whatever he was working on. She teasingly elbowed him in the ribs._

"_Come on, Loki, let me see!" she demanded, yanking the whole book out of his hands._

"_Sif, it's not finished," he started, but she flipped the notebook open anyway. She did not regret it._

_Her face was lined in ink over the entire page, masterfully shaded and detailed. Single words and polished couplets floated around in immaculate calligraphy, creating a dark halo of poetry. It was the most beautiful sketch she had ever seen in person. Blushing, she handed it back. _

"_It's beautiful."_

_He smiled and cupped her chin in his hand, sending a wave of warmth over her whole face. _

"_Not nearly as beautiful as the subject." _

Sif immediately shot out of sleep, gasping for air. It was as if the dream had ripped every last breath out of her lungs, leaving her sputtering like a fish thrown upon the shore. She frantically tore at her nightgown and rushed to throw open the nearest window, sighing in relief as the cold night quickly cloaked her in a bracing breeze. It was the third time that night she had been woken up from a dead sleep by a hurtling new memory resurfacing from gods knew where in the depths of her consciousness. She hadn't managed a good night's rest in almost a week, and it was starting to take its toll. The chalky white powder she usually reserved for special events no longer hid the dark circles forming under her eyes, no matter how heavily she layered it, and all the oils in the apothecary's stores could not reshape the haggard lines forming around her cheeks. Her current job training new recruits for the military was suffering even more than her appearance. The lack of sleep was eating away her awareness on the training field, and Thor nearly gave her a concussion during a demonstrative sparring match. He apologized profusely of course, even though it was a swing she should have been easily able to block. She caught herself dozing off when she was supposed to be making correction in marches. Even worse, everyone around her was noticing her decline. In fact, Thor had sent her back from training early to get extra rest. If only he knew…

Sif finally closed the window when the cold became too intense. She never liked cold weather. Just the chill in the autumn evening made her grimace at the thought of the imminent change in the seasons. Hot summers that demanded bare arms, sweaty tunics, and evening dips in the lake made her feel invigoratingly alive, while bundled winters were too stifling. Fall was leaving far too quickly.

_She sat by the fire, carefully sipping hot cider from a ceramic mug. It scalded her lips and tongue, but she drank it anyway for the much welcomed heat it kindled inside her body. It was too damn cold and the blizzard prevented anyone from leaving their homes. Asgard had not seen such a storm in two thousand years. Even her thickest coat could not keep away the chill that gnawed at her ribs. _

_But then the cold abated, giving way to a familiar warmth. Soft hands pulled the heavy wool coat from her shoulders and replaced it with strong arms encasing her in a cocoon of skin. Despite the freezing temperatures, he was somehow shirtless and raging hot as if with a fever. She sighed in pleasure, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, delicately planting a trail of light kisses along his exposed throat. _

Skull-splitting pain ripped a shriek from Sif's mouth. She doubled over at the sudden excruciating onslaught, jamming her thumbs against her temples in a feeble attempt to relieve the building pressure that threatened to blow a hole in her head. Black orbs flashed around her vision, making the world hazy and shifty beneath her feet. Before she could even reach the bath chamber, Sif dropped to her knees and wretched what little of her last meal she had been able to stomach. The darkness continued to seize her line of sight and she vomited again.

She almost did not hear her door flying open between the agonizing pain in her head and stomach. Thick arms hoisted her up by her shoulders, firmly half-leading half- carrying her into the adjacent bath chamber. Her fingers found a hold in a chink of armor.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she moaned, feeling herself lowered into a chair while the sound of running water boomed in her ears.

"Obviously you are not," a voice said sternly.

A wet cloth rested on her forehead, saturated enough to send cool droplets across her face.

"Your skin is on fire."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she repeated even weaker than before.

Sif winced at a shout for a healer as it shocked her sensitive eardrums. Another round of vertigo hit, but with a completely empty stomach it brought only dry heaving. Oh gods, she felt like death. At that moment she would have been perfectly happy to fall on her sword or have an axe sever her head from her neck rather than continue on. She would have given everything to completely erase the past week.

A large hand brushed the slick hair plastered to her skin out of her face and switched out the now warm cloth for a fresh one. Thor. It had to be Thor. _The only other person who would come is incarcerated. _She groaned at the thought surfacing without permission. Damn that man! And damn her for visiting him in the first place! If only that damn spell would have stayed in its damn place!

"What spell?" Thor asked quizzically

Sif silently cursed. Now she was too delusional to even tell what was in her mind and what was in her mouth. She started to form an answer, but it died on her lips as fatigue suddenly swept over her whole body. She shivered, grabbed Thor's shoulder, and then fell into a void-like sleep.

Loki's head shot up from his book when Frigga stormed into the hall, still in her night robes with the light fabric billowing behind with the force of her determined step. He recognized the stern and controlled anger in her face. It was the same look she had whenever he or Thor did something particularly destructive or dangerous as children and were in for a severe punishment. He raised an eyebrow.

"Am I in even more trouble, mother?" he asked flippantly.

"Your brother informed me that Lady Sif is quite ill, and has been since speaking to you," she stated in that low tone reserved for his misadventures. "What did you do to her?"

"I did nothing!" he snapped, slamming his book shut. "Her own childish curiosity undid the spell, not me."

"Because of your indiscretion," she corrected.

Loki scowled to hide the grimace that wanted to take over. She was right, of course, but he was not about to let it show. When Sif ran off, he spent the whole night that followed right where she left him, standing with his hands pressed against the glass in a desperate hope that she might come back. It was unbelievably selfish and more than a little cruel, but yes, he was glad the enchantment on her memory was broken. It was the most painful precaution he had to take when deciding to stage his takeover. He planned on reversing it when he was king, wooing her again if needed, but it wasn't a precaution, it was a gamble. A gamble he lost.

Some part of his mask must have dropped, because Frigga's face softened from scolding disapproval to melancholy concern.

"I know how much you loved her," she started, but before she could say anything else he hurled the book against the glass.

"I still love her!" he shouted furiously, swiftly rising from his chair. "You all can paint me the heartless villain as much as you please, turn me into the monster you need to preserve your precious reputations, but do not think for a moment that you can take her away from me!"

His chest was heaving with the weight of livid breathing, the mix of anguish and bitterness settling in his lungs like a heavy stone. He had lost too much between then and now: his throne, his sanity, his family, his trust. Loki thought he had lost Sif too, but now there was hope that their relationship could be salvaged from the collapse, even if she fought all they had been with every fiber of her being. That hope was the one thing keeping him alive as he languished. Frigga presuming that he stopped caring hurt almost more than when Sif did. Seeing the step she took back, he inhaled deeply to center himself.

"I did what had to be done to keep her safe," he continued more collectedly.

Frigga was the only other person who knew about his secret relationship with Sif. Until recently, it was impossible for him to keep anything from her, and when she riddled it out he could not deny it with a straight face. He could lie to anyone, even Sif, but not to her.

"I know," she answered calmly. "And I believe that she could be a great remedy for you should her mind be restored, but she is not reacting well to the shock and neither is her body."

"A side effect," he muttered.

Frigga's brow furrowed.

"You are correct, but it is not a trifling affliction, Loki. She might never emotionally recover. When you tampered with those memories you went far deeper inside her mind than I think you realized. Love is not something easily destroyed. To play with a force that strong is dangerous."

It was not a threat, but a warning. Loki clenched his fists until he felt his fingernails begin to break skin on his palms. He understood the risks when he made the spell, but everything changes from theory to practice. _What if you failed? What if she hates you for the rest of your pathetic life? What if you permanently broke her mind? What if she ceases to be Sif and it's all your fault? _

"Let me see her," he finally demanded, the anxiety clawing at the inside of his chest. "I can help."

"You might also do more harm than good," Frigga pointed out. "And your father will never allow it."

He bit his lip to keep from screaming _"He's not my father!" _As much as it ached to hold his tongue, escalating into another fit would not get him closer to Sif. He would suffer another thousand years trapped in the abyss if it meant having the chance to have her back as she was.

"I'm the one who built the spell, I have the best potential to finish tearing it down. If he will not allow it for me, allow it for Thor and for Asgard. Where would they fall if anything happened to Sif?"

She pursed her lips together, pondering his argument. Loki knew better than anyone that Thor was all the leverage he needed to make his case. As far as anyone but Frigga knew, Sif was the most likely candidate to be queen when Thor ascended to the throne of Asgard (assuming his mortal pet had died of old age), Odin included. More than once he had implied that he looked forward to having the greatest shieldmaiden in his army as a daughter-in-law, ironically unspecific as to by whom.

"I still doubt the Allfather will approve, however, this may be a proper time to beg forgiveness than permission."

"_Just trust me," he said, peeling off her sweat soaked tunic, leaving her in only her leggings and chest wrap. _

_She eyed him hesitantly, but eventually settled, removing the wrap and lying on her stomach. She moaned as the heels of hands pressed into the muscles on her back, kneading the ache out of the battle sore knots. He chuckled at the sound._

"_When will finally learn to trust me?" he teased and trailed his fingertips over the line of her shoulder blades._

"_When my hair grows in blond," she sniggered. _

Sif let out a groan as she opened her eyes, the dim candle light burning like the torch of the sun. She shut them again, waiting to feel more awake before giving it another try. She was wearing a new nightgown, one made of much finer material than her own, and wrapped in the soft sheets she recognized as belonging to the infirmary. Though most of her body was encased in fabric, her right arm was free, and the protective grip on her hand was undoubtedly Thor's.

"She is awake," he announced to whoever else was in the room.

"Finally."

That voice immediately drained all traces of weariness from her body. She shot out of the bed before even fully processing her surroundings, tripping over the loose sheets and stumbling into Thor's arms. There he was, standing on the other side of where she had been sleeping, his sleeves rolled up and his hair combed back. His face was cool, collected, plastered with the same blank visage he put on while spinning a particularly detailed lie. There was no trace of their last encounter to be found in his countenance, nor his demeanor. Simply seeing his relaxed posture made her knees feel weak.

"What is he doing here?!" she yelped, her voice sticking on her cotton tongue.

"Mother has promised me that Loki is here to help you recover from your illness," Thor assured.

That was only half the truth. Whether he realized it or not, she wasn't sure. She knew why Loki was really there, but how he had managed it was beyond her. His eyes lit up as he caught the fear beginning to rise in hers.

"Go get those book from mother, will you? I need to make a few references," he ordered without moving his gaze from Sif.

Thor nodded begrudgingly, giving them both a look of warning before leaving the room. Sif felt her heart skip a beat when he exited completely. She was too weak to make a solid punch, but with all the strength she could muster, Sif grabbed the closest water cup and threw it at Loki's head. He nonchalantly sidestepped, letting it shatter against the wall. She made a weak attempt to tackle him, only to get her foot caught on the edge of the cot and fall right into his arms.

"My dear Sif, is that any way to thank me?" he asked with feigned offense as she struggled to get escape his embrace and get back to her feet.

"Thank you for what?" she spat. "Taking me as your lover for a few thousand years, erasing it from my memory while you try to take over the world, and then upending my entire life?"

He rolled his eyes exhaustedly.

"I very well might be saving your life. A little preemptive gratitude would make the whole process more painless."

"At this point I would rather have you let me die!"

Despite the honest venom she drilled into the words, the disjointed fragments of her memories pricked her skull to remind her that they were not entirely true. Oh gods, something was so _right _about being wrapped in those long arms. Fighting against them felt more like sacrilege than self defense. He winced a little at the shot, but never dropped his snide half-smile.

"You can hurl all the hatred you want at me later, but right now you are not well and I can help you."

He held her out at arm's length, perusing every marking on her face that betrayed how horrible she really felt. It took every ounce of resistance not clutch his arms for extra support. It did not take a keen eye to see how much her health had deteriorated.

"By no means will it be comfortable, but I suspect anything will be better than your present state."

"And if you succeed, what happens to my brain?" she asked doubtfully. "Do I go back to being madly in love?'

He sighed and eased her back down onto her cot.

"If all goes well, yes."

Sif clenched her jaw. Yes, anything would be better than her present state, but neither was she fond of the idea of having Loki prodding around in her head for a second time, stripping away resentments she believed to be her own and replacing them with affections she did not know she had. After all he had done, all he had put them through, it was so hard to believe that she could have any other feelings…

_She grabbed the edges of his vest and through him into the door, crushing her mouth to his. He only froze for a moment to process her attack before clamping down one hand in her hair and the other on her thigh, hiking her leg up around his hip. She smiled against the kiss as he roughly switched their positions, slamming her into the wood with enough force to send a jolt up her spine. His tongue trailed along her bottom lip, teasing at her teeth to let him in. Loki Silvertongue indeed._

"Fine!" Sif shrieked, batting his hands away so she could grasp her burning head. "Please just make it stop!"

Loki considered making a sarcastic comment. _"As my lady commands" _or _"If that is what the mighty Sif wishes," _but the agony in her contorted face stitched his lips shut. He was relieved that she had closed her eyes; the careless façade was beginning to be more than he could bear. So that is what it took for her to accept their past? Torture? Torture that at its roots was his fault. He bit the inside of his cheek to slow the building force of his guilt. No, his focus would help Sif, not his self inflicted punishment.

"You will probably experience some hallucinations," he warned.

"I don't care! Just fix it!" she shouted, her whole body curling in on itself to fight.

Taking a deep breath, Loki gently pulled her hands away from her head and rested the tips of his index fingers on her temples. She squirmed under the touch, clutching the sides of the cot with a death grip that could snap bone. With a twitch of his eyebrow, he sent a quick charm to lock the door. He had read every book on memory spells twice over, he did not need them again, nor Thor to charge in a break his concentration with those catalogues of magic he almost certainly believed Loki really wanted. He needed absolute attention to Sif, and that was hard enough with her whimpering.

"Do not be frightened, but this is going to hurt very much…"

With that, he muttered the initiative line to the spell and Sif let out a blood-curdling scream the whole of Asgard probably heard. He gritted his teeth as what felt like lightening shot up through his arms to his eyes. It burned as if someone was digging into his corneas with a hot knife, but it also meant the spell was working. A harsh banging came through the door, accompanied by commanding shouts, but they began to fade out as the torturous shocks continued. As the pain intensified, so did his mind's link with Sif's.

Complete silence fell and the infirmary whisked away into an arena of darkness.


End file.
